Mr. Tea and the Traveling Teacup

By Leslie Stansfield

After the death of their mother, sisters Terry and Karen Sutter, turn their childhood home into a teahouse. It’s a dream come true, but the dream begins to resemble a nightmare when teacups start crashing to the floor in the middle of the night. Could the teahouse be haunted? There’s a list of possible ghostly candidates: the prior owner who is rumored to have left behind a buried treasure, two spinster neighbors who disappeared without a trace over forty years ago, or perhaps it’s Terry and Karen’s own mother trying to communicate with them. Karen, the older sister, thinks running a haunted teahouse might be fun, until the sisters come home one night to find the attic stairs covered in a trail of what appears to be blood. Is it a ghost or a warning? The teahouse’s new mascot, a psychic macaw, may provide some unexpected clues, but the sisters will encounter many more surprises before they solve this mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cozy Cat Press
• Release date: Dec 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301632794

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MR. TEA AND THE TRAVELING TEACUP

A Madeline’s Teahouse Mystery

Leslie Matthews Stansfield

Published by Cozy Cat Press at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright © 2012 by Leslie Matthews Stansfield

This book is dedicated to Becky Niles Letko, my first and lifelong friend, and to our childhood companions who lived on and around Kenaware Avenue. It was with you that I learned a good imagination is the key to adventure! Also, to my husband and children who knew I would rather write than clean!

CHAPTER 1

The hum of the bedroom’s air conditioner was not enough to drown out the sound of the shattering glass. Terry’s eyes sprung open, her body reeling from that groggy, spinning feeling that comes from being suddenly awakened from sleep. She knew it was, once again, the sound of a crashing teacup that had so rudely intruded on her sleep. The first time this happened, she was confused about the sound, the second time concerned, and now––time number three––fear encompassed her. Actually, that was the odd part. Why be afraid? She was in no danger, not that she could tell anyway. Tomorrow, her older sister, Karen, would arrive. That should make things better…maybe.

She sat up, feeling another wave of exhaustion. How many more nights of this could she take? She was so tired, and she just wanted to blot the incident out of her mind and go back to sleep. Her head began to pound. Dang it! In a woozy fury, she threw back the covers. Terry knew she would not sleep until she went downstairs and swept up. The first time, she didn’t know what the sound was and decided to figure it out in the morning. The second time, she just didn’t want to deal with it. Now, she wondered what the heck was going on. This was getting ridiculous.

Yanking on her bathrobe and stuffing her feet into her slippers, she flipped on the hallway light and trudged down the stairs. As she reached the bottom step, her grogginess abated, and the realization of what she was doing snapped into her brain. Whoa there, Nelly, she cautioned herself. Get a grip. Someone could be down here. Just because no one was before doesn’t mean… Her stomach flipped as a new wave of fear almost brought her to her knees. Shaking, she debated which way to turn. Her first instinct was to check the tearoom where the shelf holding the ever toppling teacups was. However, that would leave her back exposed to the parlor. She stood still, wanting to listen, but her pounding heart was making such a racket that she could barely hear herself think. Her back against the wall beneath the stairs, she slid herself stealthily along to the broom closet. Carefully cracking open the door, she reached in and grabbed a broom. She inched her way back. Easy, girlie, she told herself. She quickly turned around so she was against the wall next to the doorway of the tearoom and she could see into the dark parlor. She stared hard, looking for any sign of movement. Nothing. Adrenaline raced to every nerve. In a flash, she reached her hand around the doorway, flipped on the light switch, jumped, broom at the ready, into the room screaming, Hiiiiyyyyaaaa! Then she twirled around so she faced the parlor for a moment and twirled back with a grunt. Her eyes carefully scanned the tearoom for anything amiss. All was in order except for a shattered teacup lying just below the shelf on the wall. Just like before. Only the teacup from the middle shelf was broken. The top and bottom shelves still possessed their fragile cargo. As she glanced out the window toward the street, she thought, I must look like an ass, jumpin’ around like an uncoordinated ninja! Thank God no one saw me!

Wearily, she trudged back to the broom closet and retrieved the dustpan. As she swept the pieces of the broken cup onto the dustpan, emotional overload took over. She plunked down to the floor, put her head in her hands and sobbed.

It was less than seven months since her mother, Madeline Sutter, died, leaving their childhood home to Terry and Karen. The sisters always planned to one day turn the house into a teahouse. Terry left her job as an art teacher in Connecticut and came back to Maine. It was harder than she ever thought to redo the house. So many memories lingered like friendly phantoms. Redoing each room was like demolishing the past, her childhood, all her wonderful memories. Her parents’ faces and voices were like dandelion seeds on a spring breeze, gently floating by and dancing in the rooms. The tea parties she and Karen enjoyed on the front porch with their mother beckoned to her, calling her back to times she could not ever touch again. Her grief, mingled with her current fear, overwhelmed her. The tears flowed.

After a few minutes, she gasped for air as she looked up at the ceiling. What was going on? Why did any cup she put on the middle shelf keep falling? Was it a prank? How could anyone possibly get in? Was it a ghost? What happened to her mother’s cup, a blue lace pattern teacup, missing since her death? The delicate white cup covered with blue vines and flowers always sat on the middle shelf.

Mom, I can’t do this, she whispered into the empty room. I miss you so much. You and Karen were the strong ones; I was the wimpy artist. Look around, she cried, her arm sweeping the room. I’ve done all this. I used my talents to transform this place and I don’t even know if Karen will like it. Do you like it? Why is this happening? Mom, is it you knocking the teacup off the shelf? Then another thought hit her. If it wasn’t her mother, but some other lurking entity, did that specter mean any harm? Perhaps a much bigger ally was needed. God, I need some help here. Make this stop. Make whoever or whatever this is go away.

Terry leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. How she wished she could once again feel her mother’s gentle kiss on her forehead, but that would never happen again, ever. Her mother was gone, buried next to Daddy. Large quiet tears rolled once again down her cheeks. She stood and picked up the dustpan and broom. In the kitchen, she emptied the dustpan into the trash. She sat down at the kitchen table and gazed through the pickup window into the tearoom. Her eyes glanced up at the clock, 2:00 a.m. Her thoughts turned back to Karen. She would be here in twenty hours. Maybe things would seem better, then. Of course, Karen would initially think Terry was off her rocker. However, if this kept up, Karen would see for herself. Yeah, Karen’s presence would give Terry strength; misery loves company.

She trudged back upstairs. Once in bed, she giggled as she pictured herself playing ninja with the broom. Silly fool, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

***

The next night, Terry stood in the middle of the teahouse with its lace-adorned tables. She ran her fingers through her long brown hair, then looked at her watch. It was eleven-fifteen at night, almost time to leave to pick up Karen from the airport. Terry glanced around and wondered, for what seemed like the millionth time that day, if Karen would like the décor Terry put her heart and soul into creating. Taking a sip of her chamomile tea, Terry heaved a sigh.

Of course, Karen’s reaction wasn’t the only thing bothering her. There was also that blasted shelf. Terry walked over to the three-tier white corner shelf and glided her fingers along the empty middle tier. Sitting down at the nearest table, she massaged her temples and pondered the question of the day: should she just take the whole shelf down? The top and bottom shelves still held bone china teacups. The middle shelf that always held her mother’s teacup was empty. It glared at her like a corpse. That small corner shelf was the bane of her existence, despite all the work she spent on the walls surrounding it.

Terry spent months painting and stenciling. Her sketchbook, in her bedroom upstairs, contained hundreds of drawings that she created since returning home to run the teahouse. She began with templates and books on stenciling she bought in a craft store. One day, as she rummaged through the attic, she came across her Beatrix Potter books from childhood. Ideas began to swirl in her head. She pondered and revised hundreds of drawings until she felt the designs for the walls were just right.

She checked her watch again and debated putting another cup on the shelf. Would she be able to take the cup down before she went to bed without Karen noticing? What would that solve? Nothing. There would be the next night, and the next, and the next. Terry would forget to take the cup down eventually. If she left the shelf empty, how would she explain that to Karen? The truth was too bizarre.

Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and, with another deep sigh, pulled the blue elastic band off of her wrist and put her hair into a ponytail. Jumping up and heading out the door, she yelled out to a seemingly empty house, I really wish I understood your problem. That was the real issue; she wasn’t sure if the house was empty. Was it a ghost or just coincidence? If it was a ghost, could it be her mother? What was the point of knocking a cup off a shelf…that special shelf? Getting into her car, Terry gave an involuntary shudder.

CHAPTER 2

Karen looked at her watch for probably the sixtieth time since the plane took off. She didn’t care what time it was. It was just something to do. Something that would keep her mind off of what she left behind in California. Deep inside, Karen knew that you couldn’t run from yourself, but she was giving it her best shot. Left behind was Todd, a now ex-husband, whom she caught celebrating a big win in court by screwing his secretary right there in his office on his big fat mahogany desk. How cliché, she mused. She walked in, saw the dynamic duo going at it, screamed, slammed the door, opened it again, stepped inside and yelled, I hope the cleaning crew is gonna sterilize that desk by morning! and stormed back out the door. Slamming the door felt so good, she opened and slammed it another five times before she roared out of the office. She smiled as she remembered catching a glimpse of their stunned faces on the final grand slam––both buck naked with their mouths hanging open in a mixture of fear and confusion.

He claimed it was just a sex thing, that he loved Karen and didn’t want their marriage to end. This happened only a month before her mother’s death. Madeline’s death made her want to start all over, to put the past behind her. She filed for divorce, told Terry she was ready to commit to opening the teahouse, gave a few months notice at her job as a CPA and planned her new life. The problem, she discovered, was that she assumed the pain would end the moment she left California. It hadn’t. Again, she looked at her watch and wondered…how long?

An hour later, Terry pulled the car into the driveway, unlocked the trunk and lifted out Karen’s suitcases.

Ya know, I don’t think I will ever adjust to those stores being across the street, Karen said, taking a suitcase from her sister. I miss the woods that were there. I know we’re too old to build secret forts, but dang, it would be nice to have the option.

I hear ya, Terry said, leaning against the trunk of the car. I think about it every time I go out the front door, but we should count our blessings. If the town hadn’t rezoned that area, we couldn’t have gotten the permit for the teahouse. At least the builders kept the Victorian architectural theme from the other houses on the street. Besides, I have to admit, I think those stores being there has helped business. People go there and then wander over here. I guess now would be a bad time to tell you the town is considering putting in street lights. Terry smiled at her sister and headed toward the house.

Hey, you added more rockers to the front porch! Wow, window boxes too, Karen said as she walked up the three stairs to the porch.

I really hope you like what I did inside, Terry said as her shaking hands unlocked the front door.

Karen walked inside and set her suitcase down. The silence that followed engulfed Terry as she watched her sister look around. Oh, my gosh! It’s gorgeous, Karen whispered, wide-eyed. You did an incredible job! Mom would be so pleased! I can’t believe how well it all turned out.

Wait ‘til you see the whole thing. I can’t wait to show you around, Terry said, taking her sister into the room to the right of the front hall. Voila! The parlor! Terry entered the room and spread her arms open wide. She watched in relief as her sister stood, mouth open, taking in the Victorian couch done in a cream fabric covered in small pink and yellow roses. Two high-back chairs done in a soft pink were on each side of the couch. They formed a conversational grouping in front of a large stone fireplace. There was a lounger done in the same fabric as the sofa by a window with two small chairs in the same soft pink as the high-back chairs. To the right of the doorway was the cash register and along the walls were wooden hutches holding teapots, cozies, cups, and teas for sale. To the left of the doorway stood a brass coat rack, adorned with large hats and some boas.

Karen turned slowly around, This is…the bee’s knees, as Mom used to say. Ter, I’m speechless. Never in my wildest dreams did I picture this. Holy Toledo! Where did you find this stuff? I’m afraid to ask about the cost.

Well, you can relax. I went to an auction with Uncle Henry and bought the furniture. He and Aunt Rose helped me strip and reupholster. The furniture is apparently from an estate in Kennebunkport. Okay, c’mon, there’s more! Close your eyes, I want to take you to the kitchen first. Terry turned her sister around and dragged her back past the suitcases, through the main tearoom, flipping on the main light switch as they went by, and into the kitchen. Ta da!

Karen stood speechless again, staring at the immense kitchen with a professional stove, a new large refrigerator and a butcher-block table in the center. There was a window that normally looked out on the tearoom, but Terry closed the shutters so Karen wouldn’t see the main room until the end of the tour. In the back of the kitchen was a table with six chairs. Behind that, a door to another room was slightly ajar. Her mouth open in awe, Karen walked to the door and pushed it open to peek inside. She drew her breath. Oh, Terry, this office is…wow! The kitchen is amazing as well. I know we talked about it, but this is beyond anything I imagined. I can’t even take it all in. I’m overwhelmed by what you’ve accomplished in the few months you’ve been here. I feel like such a heel. I’ve been in California while you’ve worked your butt off here.

Karen, it was much easier for me to leave my job than for you to leave yours. Besides, we needed that extra money you’ve been sending, Terry replied. Ready for the main room?

You bet your boots, sister. Lead on!

Close your eyes, no peeking! Remember, the walls are gone between the old living room and dining room. Get ready! She gently led Karen out to the center of the main room. Okay… Terry held her breath, still nervous about what Karen would think.

Holy shi–– Karen turned around slowly, her eyes wide. I love the lavender tablecloths with the soft yellow trim. The flowers stenciled on the walls are great. Oh my… Karen walked slowly over to the wall. Those birds are drinking tea in their nest! She looked around carefully again. How cute, the squirrels over there and the rabbits in the corner are all having tea! You’re so creative. I admit I’m jealous. I can’t paint my nails, let alone do something as incredible as this. Wow.

As Karen sat in a chair with her hands on her knees and continued to look at the artwork, Terry felt her body relax and she heaved a deep sigh. Karen really loved it.

Oh look, continued Karen, over here are rabbits napping by some lettuce…this one is holding a teacup. And here, a mouse is peeking out of this cup. Karen got up and walked along the wall a bit. Here’s a baby rabbit napping in a yellow canopy bed and his mother is bringing him tea. Oh, for heavens sake! This squirrel is sitting in a rocker with her feet in a bucket of hot water while she drinks tea. This is so unbelievably clever. I love the picture of the badger and the fox having tea while the mouse peeks around the corner! How did you get this all done in time to open?

It was pretty close. There are some details I still want to add here and there. Luckily, the handyman Mom always used, Carl Despard––I’m sure you remember him––was willing to do a lot of the lifting and moving of furniture which left more time for me to do the artwork.

How’s Carl’s mother? I was so sad when I heard about the stroke. I used to love it when she babysat for us. I feel guilty I didn’t stop in to see her the last time I was home.

I wouldn’t feel guilty. There was so much goin’ on. According to Aunt Rose, she’s doing well. Her speech is clear and she can just about walk on her own. Rose volunteers at the convalescent home a few afternoons a week now. It gives her something to do and it gives Uncle Henry a break.

Karen turned her attention back to the artwork. I can’t believe you painted such incredible details on those teeny-tiny cups the animals are drinking out of. Little sister, I really envy the talent you have!

I wouldn’t be too jealous. You’re a CPA and I can’t even balance my checkbook. I’d be sunk if you didn’t do the accounting for this place, Terry said as she leaned against one of the walls, her arms crossed in front of her.